


Never going to (get to France)

by Lothiriel84



Series: A is for aromantic [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Awareness Week, Asexuality Spectrum, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Platonic Life Partners, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Walking on foreign ground like a shadowRoaming in far off territoryOver your shoulder stories unfold(You're searching for sanctuary)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A is for aromantic [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513838
Kudos: 11
Collections: Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week 2020





	Never going to (get to France)

He never thought it would be possible, until they’re standing amid the smouldering rubble of what used to be a church, and the bag containing his first-edition prophecy books is handed back to him by the one entity who is ostensibly his hereditary enemy – as if it’s the most natural thing in the entire history of the universe. And it’s not so much because he’s a demon; if there is something Aziraphale has learned over several millennia of shared history, it’s that Crowley has been a demon on his own terms for about as long as he’s known him – which is to say, in little but in name only, most of the time.

No, the reason the whole revelation is so mind-numbingly implausible is that when all is said and done, Crowley is as much of angelic stock as he is, and angels are simply not wired for romantic love; not even the fallen ones, condemned as they are to an eternity of being cut off from divine grace. Romance is such a distinctively human experience it remains entirely alien to ethereal and occult beings alike – except for the one demon, it would seem, and he finds this puts him in a rather unprecedented position.

Were Heaven and Hell ever going to be persuaded to stop breathing down their respective necks – doesn’t sound very likely, but then again, it’s been almost six thousand years, and he’s yet to hear another word about his flaming sword, so perhaps there is hope – that still would do nothing to fill this unexpected gap opening up between the two of them. For all that it’s much too dangerous a concept for him to ever be expressed out loud, Crowley is still his best friend, and he cares for him with the all-encompassing love of a Principality and former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden; which is to say, not at all in the altogether baffling and ultimately very human way Crowley appears to care for him, and he for one has no clue how to feel about that.

“Lift home?” Crowley offers, easily, mercifully oblivious to the force of the revelation Aziraphale has just been hit with. He clutches the bag to his chest, nods, and slowly gets into the car.

The world hasn’t ended, and they are as free from their respective head offices as he never dared to hope they could be. Still, there have been no grand gestures on Crowley’s part so far; no heartfelt declarations of feelings, regardless of how acutely aware Aziraphale is of said feelings, burning hot and bright just under the surface, not so much ignored as conveniently tucked away for safekeeping.

He spent the better part of the past seventy-odd years studying the concept of human romance – with the possible exception of the last eleven years, but then again, they’ve been understandably preoccupied with other, more pressing matters back then. Books and field research alike are yet to throw any conclusive light on the subject, but he suspects his own experience could easily fall under those exquisitely human categories such as ‘aromanticism’, and possibly ‘asexuality’ – though he wouldn’t be opposed to trying out some of the traditional ‘couple activities’ with Crowley, should the occasion arise. And yet, it’s that perceived disparity of feelings that makes him hesitate – what if to Crowley, his affections are simply not enough? What if he requires ‘something more’, as the humans are wont to put it – regardless that for the immortal life of him, he simply cannot figure out why romantic love should rank as anything but equally as important as friendship.

“I swear, Angel, if you don’t stop tying yourself up in knots over this, I will personally see to it that the human concept of romantic attraction is wiped out from this planet for good.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he frowns, scandalised, only to immediately realise Crowley is, in fact, teasing him. “Fiend,” he tuts, half-irritated, half-amused, and settles down the book he’s been perusing for the better part of the afternoon.

“Demon, remember?” Crowley shrugs, clearly unimpressed. He’s still busy typing on his phone, but he looks secretly pleased of the way he successfully got a rise out of his friend, again.

“You know, if you’re amenable to kissing, I would quite like to try it out, sometime.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, phone momentarily abandoned in favour of staring the angel in the eye. “Not sure that’d be a wise idea, Angel,” he enunciates, eventually, and shakes his head.

“Why ever not? I’ve been reading quite a lot on the subject, and it would appear that some of the humans do in fact enjoy it, even when they’re not romantically attracted to their partner.”

“All right,” Crowley shrugs, again, and leans across the space separating them; his lips press for the fraction of a second a couple of inches to the left of Aziraphale’s mouth, and then he’s out of his personal space, mobile phone firmly back in place.

“Crowley, that hardly counts as a kiss,” he huffs, arms now crossed protectively over his chest. “How am I supposed to work out whether I like it if we don’t give it a go, properly?”

“Patience, Angel,” Crowley points out suavely, his mouth curled in the beginning of a smirk. “It’s one of the seven virtues, or so I’ve heard.”

“You know, you can be quite insufferable sometimes.”

“Again, demon,” Crowley reminds him, eyes still trained on the screen of his mobile device. “It’s why you love me, anyway.”

This time, the revelation hits him less with the force of an exploding bomb, and more like the fertile soil of the Mesopotamian plains slowly resurfacing after the Flood.

“Yes,” he breathes, awe-struck and impossibly fond. “I do, don’t I?”

A quick, discreet snap of Crowley’s fingers, and Queen’s _You’re My Best Friend_ starts playing in the background. Aziraphale rolls his eyes, smiles, and gets up to retrieve another bottle of wine – so that they may celebrate the occasion appropriately. 


End file.
